


Heads I win, tails you lose

by lil_1337



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Dark, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-09-15
Updated: 2005-09-15
Packaged: 2017-11-06 11:13:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/418239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lil_1337/pseuds/lil_1337
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the Whumped Quatre athon on LJ</p><p>Request Parameters: Pairings you want: 13x4, 3x4, if non-graphic and/or rescue/comfort-centric 1x4's good too<br/>
Pairings you don't want: 5x4<br/>
What you want to see: A gentle but emotionally strong Quatre blinded (permanently or otherwise. i.e. hooded) and surviving a metric fuckload of hurt at the hands of OZ. Someone who cares for (or wants to protect) him forced/coerced into to raping him (not necessarily violent rape) to keep him from a worse fate. Whether he can tell or is told who it is or not and actually consents is up to the author. Gritty realism encouraged.<br/>
What you don't want to see: Broken victim. Easy endings (memory wipe, healing power of the cock). Bastardisation. Non-canon character death. Full alternate universe (canon bent, not broken). Probably doesn't fit the situation I've requested, but no devious or wickedly scheming Quatre, please.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heads I win, tails you lose

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ponderosa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ponderosa/gifts).



> **Because of the nature of the content I respectfully request that you read the request parameters prior to starting to read. If you are at all hesitant then please give it a pass.**

He’s sleeping now, peacefully this time. The worst of the nightmares have finally started to subside. The occasional whimper or restless movement is quickly eased by a caress and a soothing word. I can feel his breathing starting to even out to where it’s slow and steady. He lets me hold and comfort him when he is awake but when the dreams leave him sweating and screaming. He fights until he gets clear of them. In the aftermath he clings to me, drawing strength and comfort, which I offer to him gladly. He always apologizes for striking out, embarrassed and remorseful, even though he knows I would never blame him for something he did in his sleep.

For the most part life has gone on, as it will, but today is different. Today is the anniversary and he was thinking about it. I know, because I have been too. He’s not said much but he doesn’t need to, his body language speaks for him. He’s a cuddler by nature, closeness is something he craves and he will go out of his way to get it. He’s like that with the people he cares for but more so with me. He has a smile and touch of his hand for everyone, its just part of who he is. Today though he has kept to himself, sitting on the other end of the couch instead of curling up next to me like he usually does. He’s been restless and spent a good part of the day just wandering around the house, seemingly unable to focus on any task. I haven’t pushed him, he knows better than I do what he needs, when he is ready to reach for me I’ll be there.

It should have been just another mission. Infiltrate OZ, get the data and get out. Hell, I’d done it so many times before I could probably do it in my sleep. The soldier with no name was able to fit in anywhere. I had been in for a week and things were going well. I only had a few more days and then I would be able to just slip away into the night, another successful mission to my credit. All that changed with the announcement that Gundam pilot 04 had been captured and was being brought back to the base for questioning.

It was easy enough for me to hack into the main computer and change the duty roster so I was now assigned to prison duty in his section. Guard duty was a rotation so a new face would not raise any suspicions. No one would be surprised that I had been temporarily reassigned from tech to the cells. That evening I did my shift and on my way out stopped by his cell, pretending to be just another grunt come to gawk at the infamous Gundam pilot. The light was dim and I could barely make out his figure curled in the corner. He was so still at first I wasn’t sure he was even alive. It wouldn’t have been the first time that a prisoner had died while enjoying OZ’s _hospitality_. For all their preaching about honor and peace, compassion was not high on their list of virtues. Neither was humane treatment of prisoners, especially those they considered high risk.

If I’d had any doubts about how I felt about him they would have disappeared in that moment. My first thought was _fuck the mission_ along with a desire to tear the place apart, brick by brick if necessary, until I could touch him. Hold him in my arms and reassure myself that he was alive. The rage must have shown on my face because when the major walked up he chuckled and patted me on the arm. He made some comment about teaching that “fucking terrorist a few things” as he pulled a ring of keys from his pocket and unlocked the cell door. I was surprised and somewhat unnerved when he gestured for me to enter with him but I was not going to pass up the chance to see Quatre up close. I _needed_ to see how injured he was and to let him know that we would get him out. The clang of the door closing must have woken Quatre because I saw him stir. He jerked, then froze like someone disoriented after being pulled from a restless slumber. My heart skipped a beat and the knot in my chest eased enough for me to take a full breath. He was alive! All I had to do was get word to Heero so he knew where Quatre was being held. He would contact the other pilots and they would put together a rescue mission. There was no way any one of us would allow a fellow pilot to be sacrificed.

The major sauntered over to where Quatre was lying and grabbed a handful of his hair. He pulled it back, bringing Quatre’s face into what little light shone in the cell. I was stunned by what I saw. I’m not innocent or naïve by anyone’s definition. I’ve seen death and destruction created both by my hand and by others. But I have always prided myself on killing cleanly in battle against an armed foe. If I have to kill I do so without hesitation but I have never abused anyone who was my prisoner. It’s cowardly to take advantage of someone who is defenseless even if they are your enemy. I knew, _knew_ that OZ was not kind to their prisoners but what they done to him crossed the line into torture. It took all my self-control not to throw up thinking about what he must have been forced to suffer through. His face was a mass of cuts and bruises, almost to the point of being unrecognizable. I don’t think there was an inch of flesh that was not damaged. His eyes were swollen shut, the skin around both of them blackened from the bruising. His hair was streaked and matted with blood from multiple head wounds. For some reason I could not understand his arms were tied behind his back with old-fashioned rope instead of shackles. His wrists and lower arms were razed and oozing from the constant irritation of the harsh material digging into and rubbing against his unprotected skin. The vest he usually wore was gone and his shirt was ripped and stained with dirt, blood, and other substances I did not even want to speculate on. His lower body was hidden in shadow but I suspected his pants were in a similar condition. From the way he winced when he moved I guessed he had several broken ribs, possibly internal injuries. At the very least his torso was badly bruised.

Despite it all I could see calm and composure. There was no anger, no hatred as would be expected with most people. When he spoke his voice was raw and husky from thirst and pain, but still recognizable as Quatre. He quietly asked who was there and then went silent, his demeanor stating clearly he expected the courtesy of a response. The major laughed darkly and told him that he was a fan and had brought another one of his admirers to visit. Quatre smiled then, the effort must have been hellish as it caused his split lip and several of the other cuts on his face to open and bleed. He ignored them with all the casual grace under pressure that was part of his upbringing. It would have been easy to close my eyes and pretend we were at a black tie dinner, with Quatre as the gracious host. His voice dripped polite sincerity when he spoke.

“Thank you for taking the time to come see me but I’m afraid I’m a bit tied up right now. If you’d like an autograph I’m sure that can be arranged. Just see my secretary on your way out.”

The major’s face went red and he slapped Quatre across the head opening more of the cuts. His hair was beginning to look more pink than blond from the fresh blood soaking into the golden strands. The sound of the blow hung in the air feeding the major’s sadistic streak and urging him on. Quatre was not cowed. He held himself as straight and proud as his bounds would allow. Every inch the powerful young man I knew him to be. I was torn between being proud of his strength and wanting to kill the man who had dared to lay hands on _my_ Quatre. My hands started to fist on their own and I took a step forward. I had no idea what I was going to do but it was going to stop. I couldn’t have cared less about my mission, the war or the colonies. All that mattered was Quatre and his safety. The movement caught the major’s eye and he gestured me closer.

“Only one way to teach this boy to respect his betters,” he said turning to face me, his eyes bright with thrill of inflicting pain. A cold chill ran through me and I could see Quatre tense in expectation of the next blow. It did not fall, however, instead the major pulled him to his feet then placed a meaty hand in the middle of his back and pushed. Quatre stumbled then fell heavily against the wall, unable to catch himself, because of his bound hands. His lack of sight robbed him of his ability to prepare for the impact and his chest hit the bricks with a solid thump that widened the twisted smile on the major’s face and knocked the breath from Quatre’s lungs. I could hear him struggling for air, trying to calm down, not let fear and disorientation lead to panic. The major’s complexion was flushed and he was breathing heavily in way that made me increasingly fearful for Quatre’s well being. In full light now I could see that his pants were in tatters. The skin that showed through was scrapped and bruised much like the rest of him. He was favoring his left leg, his weight shifted to his right side to compensate. His feet were covered in blackened socks and his shoes nowhere that I could see.

“Fuck him.” The major’s harsh voice jerked me back to danger of the situation we were in. His words not registering at first, the idea of what he was suggesting too incomprehensible.

“Sir?”

I could see Quatre start at the sound of my voice. A slight upward turn of his lips, unnoticeable to anyone who did not know him, was the only sign of recognition. I wanted to reach out, to touch him and let him know everything would be okay. He would be safe.

“I _said_ fuck him. You _do_ want to make him pay don’t you?”

“Sir, yes, sir. Isn’t that against code of conduct, sir?” I hoped that fear of reprisal might make think twice about what he was ordering me to do. I doubted that appealing to him on a moral level would have made any difference, but if he had made it to Major concern for his ranking and career might make him reconsider something that could put them in jeopardy.

The sound that came from his mouth was the antithesis of what laughter should be. “Codes of conduct are for pussies and enlisted men.” He unsnapped his holster and pulled his gun from it. The weapon remained pointed at the ground and loose in his grip but the menace in his actions was clear. “You have a choice, boy.” He smirked, making it clear that I would not like what was coming next. “You can fuck this son of a bitch Gundam pilot or…” he let the silence hang. Taking malicious pleasure from being in control, knowing I would not make a move until I knew what my options were. “…You can watch me fuck him before I shoot you for being a traitor.” He eyed me up and down, his eyes assessing my body through the fitted uniform I wore. “I might have to fuck you first. Just to teach you a thing or two about obeying orders from your superiors.”

I froze. There was no way in hell I was letting that sick bastard get his hands on Quatre. I would kill The Major and take my chances if it came to that. I could hide his body somewhere on the base but I had no idea if he had told anyone about his plan to visit the cells. If his death was connected to Quatre in any way they would work him over again and this time it would most likely kill him. I was reasonably confident that the major had not shared his plans for the evening but not enough to gamble Quatre’s life on it. I couldn’t just break him out and make a run for it either, he could barely stand let alone walk and I had no place to hide him or any way to get him out. My exit strategy for this mission consisted of jump the fence and walk away looking casual until I could find a car to steal.

I glanced over to where Quatre was leaning heavily against the wall. I could only imagine what must be going through his mind, knowing whose hands his fate rested in. His head was tilted to the side listening intently to the conversation. His weight was supported by his shoulder and hip and his hand was fisted tightly into the material of his slacks. He must have felt my eyes on him because he attempted a slight smile. His voice was soft but clear.

“Why are you doing this? Isn’t it enough that you have me? Why abuse your own soldier? Are you that desperate for someone to torture that you need to drag an innocent into something that does not concern him? Is this what OZ has become? A haven for cowards and bullies?”

“Shut the fuck up or I will shut you up.”

Quatre continued as if the major had not spoken. This time his words were directed at me, resignation clear in his voice. “It would be waste for you to throw your life away. I’m sure OZ needs all the good soldiers it can get.”

I sensed more than heard the pain and fear in his words. It cut to the core knowing that he was suffering because of his love and concern for me. The major had no idea how well he had accomplished his goal of trying to break his prisoner. Blind and basically helpless there would have been nothing Quatre would have been able to do but listen as the major followed through on his threats. Threats I have no doubt he had every intention of seeing through. It was a game to him and he would play it out what ever way the flip of the coin landed.

“Well, boy?” The major’s words sliced through my thoughts. Steeling myself for what I knew I had to do, I moved over to where Quatre was leaning against the wall and grabbed him around the waist. My eyes were drawn to his neck. His pale skin was almost white and the finger shaped bruises on his throat stood out in harsh relief. Using my arm to support his weight, I angled myself so that from behind all that was visible was my body. The major was not going to see any of his flesh if I could help it. The other arm went around him and I made as if I was unbuttoning his shirt. Instead my fingers traced a path across his chest spelling out I’m sorry and I love you.

“This is for your own good.” I growled loudly enough for the major to hear. Trusting Quatre would understand the message in those words and know I was doing this to save him. One of his fingers touched my leg lightly and I pressed into the touch as he spelled back love you, trust you.

What happened after that I try not to think about though it still haunts me. I remember clearly the feel of Quatre in my arms, his struggle to relax and not tense up. The way his bound hands pressed against my stomach, the rope scratching my skin through the thin uniform shirt. The pained whimpers that broke through when I entered him. The sound of the major’s zipper opening, the horror of realizing he was masturbating and the relief that followed almost immediately with the realization that he would not be able to rape Quatre if he was spent. Mostly I remember the self-loathing and praying to a god I do not believe in for it to be over. I was sickened even further when I pulled out and realized that there were streaks of blood staining my cock.

He was limp against me when I rearranged his clothes. I spelled get you out and promise across his stomach but his fingers did not move in response. I could hear him breathing, focusing on the in and out to take his mind away from the pain, pain that I had caused him. I hated the major at that moment like I have never hated anyone before, it even surpassed the hatred I felt for myself. It burned in me as deeply as the love I felt for Quatre.

I went back to my room after making sure the major had returned to his quarters and was not going to double back to Quatre’s cell. I would have killed him if he had, then broken Quatre out and taken our chances. But he returned to his room and I to mine. The encrypted email to Heero was written in a matter of minutes and then the need to shower overwhelmed me. I was dirty. Blood stains you in a way that never washes out but when it’s the blood of someone you love it is permanently imprinted on your soul. Each drop carries with it the burden of a lifetime of seeking forgiveness that you can never earn.

I stumbled into the shower and stepped under the water, cranking down the cold tap until it would not go any farther. The heat from the spray set my skin on fire, turning it bright red. I washed myself from head to toe avoiding my cock. At last I took it in hand and forced myself to look at it. The blood had long been washed away but I was sure I could still see traces of it on my skin. The self-loathing struck again and I roughly soaped it up using a washcloth. I scrubbed at it trying to remove all traces of what I had done, who I had become. When I finally forced myself to stop it was raw and aching. I allowed it to slide from my hand limp and lifeless, not caring about what I had done to myself or how painful it would be later. My fists clenched and I slammed them one after another into the shower wall until my knuckles were ragged and bloodied. More blood, more pain. Mine this time, I deserved to hurt, to bleed. I watched it dilute and pale as it streamed from the wounds to disappear in a swirl down the drain. Eventually the bleeding stopped and the water ran clear. Then and only then did I allow myself the luxury of doing something I had not done in a very long time, something I thought I was no longer capable of. I cried. For Quatre, for myself, for what had been taken from us, and for the loss of the only innocence we had managed to salvage from the horrors we were forced to face every day.

The next morning I was pulled from a fitful sleep by the clanging of alarms and security personnel screaming orders. Seems the Gundam pilot had escaped and the whole place was in an uproar. It took two more days to complete my mission and surprisingly the base exploded not too long after I slipped over the fence. Rumor has it they found the major handcuffed in one of the cells which just happened to be ground zero for the bulk of the damage. I was told by a reliable source that what they found of the body was a mess, identifiable only through dental records. I could have told him it was a mess before the bomb went off but I didn’t think he needed to know. The Major was alive when I left…barely. I’m not proud of what I did but I don’t regret it either.

He was on the ground moaning, just hanging onto consciousness, watching as I set the bomb that would blow him to hell when he asked me why I was doing this to him. As if he was the innocent victim of some evil madman.

“Why?” I repeated, surprised that he would even wonder after the things he had done. “You forced me to rape another boy because you get off on hurting someone who is helpless and in your control. You would have raped and killed me if I refused and you have the _balls_ to ask me _why_? Did you think I didn’t know you were jacking off you sick fuck? You use people as if they were playthings for your personal amusement. You are an officer representing OZ in everything you do. You should be honorable, compassionate and striving for peace. That is what being a soldier is supposed to mean. You fight because you have to not because it gives you pleasure to watch others suffer and die. When I look at you I see greed, corruption and abuse of power. You are all the reasons I have fought in the past and all the reasons I will continue to fight as long as I have to. If this is the peace you and your kind offer I want nothing of it and I want nothing of you. I can’t take out all of the cancer that your kind spreads but I can make sure that _you_ never hurt anyone else.”

Before I left I made sure the bomb was turned so he could watch as the minutes of his life ticked away. I used a torn strip of Quatre’s shirt that I found on the floor to gag him. It seemed fitting somehow. I know it was wrong but I’ve never regretted it. Quatre and I were not his first victims; he was too sure of himself. Too comfortable with what he was doing. I have no doubt that he would have continued if I hadn’t killed him and that was something I would _not_ have been able to live with.

It took me several excruciatingly long days to make it to the safe house where Quatre was. The area around the base was swarming with OZ soldiers looking for who had destroyed it after the place when up in flames. I had to lay low, traveling at night and very cautiously until I made it clear. My only thought was to get to him. To be sure he was okay and to tell him I was sorry. I needed to look in his eyes and make sure he knew. That he understood I did it to save him. After that I didn’t care what happened.

He was asleep when I crept into his room, feeling like an intrusion into his now safe world. An unwelcome reminder of what had happened to him. I was sure he would never want to see me again and I couldn’t blame him. We had barely begun to explore our feelings for each other before this mission. We had been on one date, a night stolen between missions where we were able to be just two teenaged boys enjoying each other’s company over a quiet meal. We had kissed and we had touched. We had even slept in the same bed. But we had both agreed we were not ready for anything more. When the war was over and we were older we would have luxury to put everything else aside and explore the physical part of the relationship fully. Now we needed to focus on defending the colonies and bringing peace.

I had taken his virginity and my own in one senseless act. Yes, I had saved him from being raped by the major and possibly killed but at what cost? Would he ever want to speak to me again? Had I ruined all chance of us ever having anything together? More importantly what had I done to him? The questions and recriminations chased each other around and around until I lost myself in them, drowning in my fears.

I don’t know how long I stood in the shadows and watched him sleep. Hoping he would wake up so I could reassure myself he was still the same Quatre and at the same time wishing he would never wake. I wanted to just watch him and delay what I knew was coming. The hurt, the betrayal, and the bitter words of accusation that I knew would fall from his lips. He would hate me, how could he not when I hated myself.

It was the sound of Duo arriving with his dinner tray that finally woke him. I held my breath when his eyes widened at the realization that I was standing there. “Trowa?” he mouthed. I nodded, smiling shakily at him. He struggled upright, opened his arms to me and I fell into them. His arms wrapped around my waist and he buried his face in my chest. I stroked his hair and kissed his face softly soothing each hurt. He started to tremble and then the words came rushing out.

“I was so scared, Trowa. I thought he was going to kill you. I couldn’t see. I couldn’t help. All I could do was stand there and pray you wouldn’t refuse. I felt so fucking _useless_. What good am I if I can’t even protect the people I love? You deserve so much more.” The fingers on one hand fisted in my shirt, pulling it tight against my chest while his other hand slammed into the blanket next to my leg. Over and over he pounded into the bed. His harsh breathing and the dull thump of his fist hitting the mattress the only sounds in the room. Finally he slowed, physical exhaustion taking its toll on his weakened body.

“It would have killed me if he had hurt you.” His voice began to crack and I stroked his hair, trying to comfort him without stopping the flow of words. As painful as it was, he needed to talk. Needed to get it out so it wouldn’t eat at him. He paused for a moment then continued on. “I couldn’t see, Trowa. I thought….I thought I might be blind forever, that I might never see your face or experience the beauty of the earth. How could I pilot Sandrock if I couldn’t see? How could I do anything?” The agony and fear in his voice cut through me and I held him closer trying to reassure him that I was here and everything was fine. He took a deep breath and continued on, his voice shaky but strong.

“I love you, Trowa. I was scared and it hurt but I’m glad it was you. I never wanted to be with anyone but you.” He paused then so softly I barely heard him added “ Do….do you hate me for what happened?”

I pulled back to look at him, shocked and speechless. His head was bent, his eyes averted in shame. “How could you think I would hate _you_? God, Quat if anyone deserves to be hated it’s me. I _raped_ you. I was the one who failed not you!” The words bit into my soul but I couldn’t deny their truth.

“No!” His chin came up and his eyes blazed blue fire. “It’s not your fault! I’m the one who let myself get captured. You shouldn’t have had to worry about me.” He bit his lip before continuing in a softer voice. “I’m the reason you lost your virginity in a prison cell with that…that _monster_ watching. I’m the reason you were not able to have the first time you should have. I’m the reason….” His voice finally broke and the tears began to fall. His body shook and he clung to me. I lowered us down to the bed and wrapped myself around him, holding him close while he sobbed out his hurt and shame.

He fell asleep that night wrapped tightly in my arms, drained from his emotional outpouring. One hand clutched my shirt the other gripping one of the belt loops on my jeans. His head tucked firmly under my chin. I lay next to him the whole night, just holding him. He told me later that being held by me made him feel safe and whole again. His body had started to recover but he needed my forgiveness to heal his heart and soul.

There is a small scar on his right cheek and a couple more on his back and legs from where the worse cuts were and his eyes will always be sensitive to light especially if he’s tired. And yet after everything he still smiles, laughs and believes in the inherent goodness of people, the dream that true peace can be achieved. I am amazed and awed at his capacity to love and understand and I often wonder what I have done to deserve to have him in my life. I hurt and betrayed him and yet he trusts me with his heart. I was, and always will be, humbled by him.

We had our first real night together when the war ended but it was much more bittersweet than the celebration we had dreamed of. We have never made love from behind and not ever standing up. I don’t know if we ever will but I don’t feel cheated. He prefers to take instead of being taken which is fine with me. It really doesn’t matter how we do it as long as its Quatre I’m making love to. It’s not just about the sex for us and it never will be.

On nights like this when the nightmares stalk him, when the memories come unbidden and unwelcome I am there to hold him close and protect him like I couldn’t in reality. I will _not_ allow the dreams to torment him. He has more than paid his dues for the choices he has made. We have peace now and anyone who wants to take that from him will find me an unmovable obstacle in the way.


End file.
